


Need a Hand?

by Doezo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, McCree's a fucking tool, Soldier is a scolding father, hurt comfort, i wrote this on two hours of sleep and it was mostly to get the idea out there, ill rewrite it one day, uhh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 08:18:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7610635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doezo/pseuds/Doezo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McCree rushes into a mission without thinking and fucks his metal arm up. Hanzo's there to call him a moron and help him get around until his new arm is ready.</p>
<p>1st Chapter is mostly just how it happened, the rest will be shenangians with one-armed McCree.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Need a Hand?

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this super tired! There's probably a million mistakes but I'll get to it when I wake up lmfao. Also there's references to Hang the Fool, (Just Lucio calling McCree 'Eastwood' which is super cute.)

Under the dim light of their transport, McCree had smiled. Looking over to the other side of the ship, over at the tense archer who scoffed at him and mouthed at him to, “ _Focus_.”

 

He usually did this. A soft smile or a little nudge when they were close enough, being aloof to make them both relax and convince themselves that they would be okay. Of course, Hanzo never relaxed, the cowboy knew that much about him in the months they’ve gotten closer (and closer, and even closer than that.) It never stopped him. He needed it for himself, even if it didn’t help Hanzo.

 

Talon had been spotted in Numbani. Nothing surprising there, they’ve been getting more and more reports about a possible hideout in the city, but finding it under the vast concrete jungle was another task in itself. This time, they were looking near the big banks. The accountant's offices, the places that you wouldn’t look twice at for terrorist organizations. Money laundering, sure. Murder and terror, no. 

 

McCree fit in with the crowd, which said more about the bright city than McCree himself. Nobody looked twice at him, or Lucio, who was hopping on his heels beside the cowboy. He had one earbud in and had his skates tied to his backpack. He could change into them faster than McCree could slide his feet into his leather boots, so he wasn’t worried about being jumped and being unprepared. 

 

Lucio had a green hoodie on with grey sweats. His sunglasses hid his face from passerbyers who happened to be fans of his. 

 

“Hey, Eastwood.” He said. “These guys in suits look evil, but not our kinda evil, you know?” He looked down at his phone, pretending to change a song or return a text. Nonchalant. “Man, I would kill for a coffee.” He mumbled. 

 

McCree put out his stub of a cigar on the edge of a building, not much caring for littering. “Gotta look closer,” He smirked and reached into his pack for another cigar and lit it. Lucio moved a little away, the smell making his nose wrinkle. “They’re an overdramatic bunch. Look for tattooes.”

 

It didn’t take long. A woman on her phone with a small ‘T’ tattooed on her wrist. Lucio had missed it, but McCree hadn’t. 

 

They’d almost lost her, Hanzo arguing that she’d gone inside a building, he can’t cover them inside. McCree could hear his furrowed brow over the communication unit. McCree looked in the general direction to where Hanzo was supposed to be. One of the many balconies. He gave up trying to make eye contact and went, “You don’t gotta worry, sweetheart. What’s a small little doe like her gonna do?”

 

A lot, apparently.

 

She had noticed the brightly coloured duo following her, there’s no way she could have not noticed. McCree had been planning on taking her quietly with a gun pressed to her back. She changed that when she ducked into a maintenance door. Soldier 76 was demanding status reports, and Lucio looked at McCree questioningly. McCree nodded at the door, they were going to follow her. McCree mumbled, “She’s a slippery one, we’ll get her.” Which wasn’t as detailed as Soldier was hoping for, and he made sure McCree knew it. Lucio looked nervous.

 

They quickly followed her through the door, catching it before it closed and locked itself. McCree took out his Peacekeeper and kept it low, not wanting to spook any innocent janitor they happened across. Lucio kicked on his skates as they walked, hopping along as he got in one foot at a time, not wanting to stop and risk losing her. 

 

Turns out there weren’t many ways to go. The long hallway lead by pipes ended at one room with a big metal door and a single window several feet up on the far wall. 

 

The embarrassing truth was this:

 

The door opened with a keycard that the woman had, McCree had reached out to grab her before she could get through. He managed to snag her by the collar, but the door had already begun to slide closed. The sickening metal crunch that echoed through the room made McCree’s ears ring. His metal arm being crushed under the weight of the door was a lost cause. His fingers malfunctioned and he let her go. The alarms started blaring after that. 

 

Through McCree’s loud cursing and grunting while he tried to pull his ruined arm free, Lucio was updating the crew on what was happening. Hanzo had many words for McCree, none of them very nice.

 

McCree had ordered Lucio to use his skates to ride up to the window and get out of there. Lucio had argued at first but Soldier 76 repeated it, saying, “We aren’t losing both of you.” Although harsh, McCree knew by the tone in his voice that he was on his way himself to pull McCree out of the fire. Hanzo was silent over the comm’s.

 

McCree tried making heads or tailed out of his mangled arm, trying to find the clasp to pull apart his arm. The nerves connecting to the machine were still raw and hurt to tug at, but he had little choice.

 

Lucio had said, “We’ve got you, Eastwood. We aren’t going to just leave you, trust me!” He got a fast skating start then jumped along the wall. McCree still has no idea how he managed that. He didn’t know what their plan was, either. He just hoped it was before Talon picked him apart for information. 

 

“Whoa, hey!” Lucio had yelped. He’d gotten the window open by hanging onto the sill and kicking it open, but he was suddenly pulled through, making McCree’s heart drop. He aimed his Peacekeeper at the window, hoping to see who was pulling Lucio through and help him, but lowered it when he saw the angry glare he knew all too well.

 

Hanzo jumped down, his knees clacking against the concrete floor when he landed. No time to worry about being graceful or cautious. McCree had a stupid smile on his face when he saw him, but it was quickly wiped off when Hanzo hissed, “You absolute _fool_.”

 

“Look--” McCree started.

 

“Shut your mouth! How do you work this?” Hanzo pulled his sleeve up higher so he could see the contraption. He didn’t wait for an answer when he saw the damage and ruled that it was too far gone to save. He pulled an arrow out of his quiver and struck down at his arm. McCree had shouted, it had hurt a lot. There was a flicker of something on Hanzo’s face but neither could worry about it. He wasn’t digging into skin, but there were some organic nerves that worked into the arm, giving him more control. 

 

Hanzo hesitated when he saw blood. He wasn’t expecting it.

 

“Keep goin’, babe.” McCree hissed, “Almost there.” A beat, “Ahah, I said that same thing just the other ni--”

 

Hanzo struck the arrow down again, just because Lucio was still at the window and watching, playing his healing music to try and do _something_ while they worked.

 

In the end, it took a dozen more swings and the sound of boots stomping down the hallway for them to get the arm off. It hurt, a lot. There wasn’t a lot of blood, but enough to leave a trail as they walked to the window. McCree made some wise crack about how he wasn’t getting up there, but Hanzo had no time for that. He grabbed McCree’s flesh arm and swung him over his shoulders. In a surprising burst of strength from the adrenaline, Hanzo climbed with McCree on his back. 

 

Lucio pulled them both through, and they ran.

 

-

 

“Er,” McCree drawled, rolling the cigar between his teeth, the hot smoke rolling across his tongue. His finger had hesitated on the keyboard as he finished up the report on what had happened. Soldier 76 was sitting across from him, his face hidden behind a mask and unreadable. It didn’t stop McCree from feeling like he was being scolded at school again. “I think that’s about it. I think I’m done.” His arm was still gone, so he had to type up the entire report with one hand. He already tapped at keys with two fingers even with both hands, this took an unbearingly long time.

 

Soldier 76 was there the entire time, staring, not saying much, except to correct spelling here and there. 

 

Gibraltar was warm, the AC had only just kicked in. McCree doesn’t think that’s why there’s sweat dripping down his back. Soldier 76 turned the computer towards himself, taking a moment to read over the report himself. He was quiet. McCree wanted to leave.

 

“Tell me where it went wrong.” Soldier 76 said, pointing the screen back at McCree.

 

Oh, boy.

 

“Uh, when we went inside without back-up.” McCree answered, feeling the heat of his cigar more than ever.

 

“If you answered so damn fast to that, why the hell couldn’t you use the tiny brain of yours to realize that following a Talon agent into a building that could harbor more Talon agents was a goddamned bad idea?” Soldier 76 was livid. McCree was sure if he could see steam rising from his mask, but he didn’t say anything about it. He didn’t reply, either. Not that Soldier 76 gave him much of a choice. An hour went by of Soldier 76 chewing McCree out. Lucio didn’t get a word of it, he was in no way at fault for this.

 

McCree left feeling pretty embarrassed. He wished he could spin the story to sound cooler, but there was no hope. Whenever someone gave him a tentative wave, it reminded him that his metal arm was gone because he tried to be a hero and be the one to finally grab a Talon agent. The only upside was that Lucio was looking up to him like a superhero. 

 

“Man, like…!” Lucio was still new to Overwatch, but he was quick to make friends. Everyone listened in the mess hall at their cramped table about what happened. McCree was sitting beside him, Hanzo across the room with his brother, enjoying their own quiet meal. Not that Lucio’s voice didn’t carry across. “You were so cool, dude! Telling me to leave and save myself. You were like-- it was like a movie! I would’ve been freaking out if I got my legs stuck! I’d be like ‘Dude! Fucking help me!’”

 

“Yeah, well…” McCree looked down at his dinner. It was steak, but he made no comment about how he couldn’t cut it with one hand, so he pretended to be full. “Was tryin’ to keep calm. Was shittin’ myself inside.” He’d confess later that he felt an older brother-type protectiveness over Lucio. It was hard not to.

 

“I fuckin’ _bet_!” Lucio goes on about how tense the situation was, what he was feeling, cracking jokes with Lena and Hana about it. Eventually, it was time for practice. All the kids got up and started cleaning their trays and boasting about how good they were going to do that day. McCree had time off until his new arm was built.

 

It was quiet. It was only him, Hanzo, and Genji in the room. Though, Genji knew when to take his leave. He mumbled some things to Hanzo in Japanese which made Hanzo blush. McCree reminded himself to continue trying to learn the language. 

 

Hanzo took his tray over to the small kitchenette and placed his dishes in the sink. Sounds of him washing the plate he used took over the large space, echoing off the walls. McCree looked down at his cooling steak. God, he was hungry. He ate the potatoes around it, but it only did so much for a man as large as himself. 

 

A swift smack to the back of his head got his attention. It didn’t hurt, it was mostly to get his attention. Hanzo was there, offering him a napkin for some mashed potato stuck in his beard. He sat down beside him and pulled McCree’s plate over towards himself, picking up the knife.

 

A new wave of embarrassment hit the cowboy, “You ain’t gotta cut my food, Han.” He said, weakly. Almost pleadingly.

 

“How else will you eat.” It wasn’t a question. Hanzo didn’t look up at him and continued cutting it into tiny squares. “You’re a fool.”

 

“I know, you told me. You tell me all the time.”

 

“And somehow it gets more true the more I say it. If I tell you you’re a cautious, level-headed thinker, will you turn into that, too? Do my words sound like a challenge to you?” 

 

McCree glanced at the knife in Hanzo’s hand and decided not to argue it further. 

 

“Thank you.” He eventually said. He reached into his breast pocket for a cigar and placed it on the table. He dug into his jeans for a lighter and then looked at the two items, almost like he was hoping they would just somehow combine and the cigar would light itself. Hanzo ignored it, not enabling McCree’s disgusting addiction.

 

There was silence, the only sound was Hanzo cutting McCree’s steak. He cleared his throat. “Ain’t gotta cut it that small. I got a big mouth.”

 

For the first time in what felt like days, Hanzo let out a huff that could’ve been mistaken as a laugh. If he smiled, it was gone before McCree could glance at his face. Hanzo pushed the plate at McCree, “Eat.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Hanzo smacked him.

 


End file.
